This is a conversation I had with myself in the closet this morning.
Self: Dude, your closet is a disaster.
Me: What are you talking about? It’s not that bad … most things are hanging on hangers or folded in piles, I have access to everything I need. I love this closet. It’s huge. It’s my happy place. Leave me alone.
Self: So you’re saying it makes sense to have maternity pants hanging next to post-partum pants hanging next to work slacks you will never wear again?
Me: I … uh … no, I’m not saying that makes sense but if I have the space for all these clothes what’s the big deal? Besides, I might need those again someday.
from afar, a voice: Mooooooooooooo-oooooooooooooooom! I NEED YOU!
Me (yelling): WHAT DO YOU NEED?
the voice: I NEED YOU TO COME CHECK IF I WIPED ALL THE POOP FROM MY BOTTOM!
Me (yelling): BE RIGHT THERE!
Self: So wait, which pants might you need again? The fat pants or the work pants? Or the working-while-fat pants?
Me: I don’t know. Shut up.
Self: And there are four bridesmaid dresses in here gathering dust and winter coats from your Chicago days and don’t even get me started on that pair of engineer-striped denim overalls.
Me: Lay off the overalls. I’m waiting for them to come back in style. Plus, my friend Sarah gave them to me and I think she got them at the Salvation Army for like three bucks. They could be, like, vintage by now.
a dull thud, distant crying, then silence
Me (yelling): EVERYONE OK?
a man’s voice, familiar, irritated: YEP. YOU ALMOST READY?
Self: All I’m saying is that you could probably stand to clean out your closet.
Me: I don’t have time to clean out my closet. I don’t even have time to have this conversation with
you me myself about cleaning out my closet. Jesus Christ, who are you anyway? Those people from What Not to Wear? Because I’ll have you know that I’ve got a pretty cute stay-at-home-mom uniform going these days.
Self: Seriously? You cut off a pair of ill-fitting Banana Republic jeans from 2004 to make your own bermuda shorts. You have Old Navy wife beater tanks in sixteen colors including FOUR WHITE ONES. You still have built-in-bra nursing tanks in your layering-cami rotation. YOU BUY UNDERWEAR AT COSTCO.
You’re We’re in dire straits over here.
voice, on the potty, from afar: MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!
Me: I have to go wipe a butt right now.
Self: We’re not finished with this conversation. Meet me back here later. I’ll be the one in the wife-beater tank and bermuda shorts.
Me (exiting): Whatever.
Self (calling after Me): Your fly is down!